


It's Not Christmas

by RosiePaw



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-01
Updated: 2010-01-01
Packaged: 2017-10-05 15:16:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RosiePaw/pseuds/RosiePaw





	It's Not Christmas

“Two hours, McKay,” Sheppard said in his best military commander voice.

Which Rodney, of course, ignored.  “_One_ hour, Colonel.”

“An hour and a half.  With bonus points for additional time.”  Sheppard waggled his eyebrows.

“Okay, you _do_ know that thing with your eyebrows screams ‘dorky’, not ‘flirtatious,’ right?”

Sheppard tried a pout.

Rodney huffed.  “Fine.  Ninety minutes.”

“Thanks, buddy.  It’ll be fun.”  Sheppard’s smile was every bit as sincere as it was during trade negotiations on alien planets.  Rodney didn’t buy it for one nanosecond.

“I hope you appreciate that ninety minutes of _my_ time...”

“Sheppard here...  Okay, down there in a few.”  Sheppard stood up and grabbed his tray.  “Jeez, I tried giving Lorne a hand with my paperwork by leaving him a few notes, and now he’s complaining he can’t read my writing!”

“Imagine that,” Rodney commented as the Colonel left.

“Do your people observe this holiday in a different way from John’s?” asked Teyla.

“No, it’s pretty much the same.  Actually, we celebrate longer, since we observe Boxing Day the day after Christmas.”

Ronon’s ears perked up.  “With fights?”

“No, not that kind of boxing.  Although... if you told the American Marines that’s what the day’s about, I doubt any of them would know enough to contradict you.”

“Cool.”  Ronon’s grin didn’t promise well for the Marines.

Rodney stabbed up another forkful of meatloaf, started to chew and realized that Teyla was still watching him.  “Look, it’s not a Canadian thing, it’s just me.  Christmas was okay when I was a kid, but after I started university in my mid-teens, late December became more about being able to get extra lab and computer time while other people were celebrating.  Most years there’d only be a few of us left on campus, people who were Jewish or Muslim, Sikh or pagan or just not into the holiday.”

“What’s Jewish and Muslim and Sikh and pagan?”

“Different religions, Chewie.  Ask the anthropologists.  The thing is, my family was never strong on the religious aspects of Christmas, and after a while, I got out of the habit of paying attention to the social aspects.  Not to mention that Christmas is grossly over-commercialized, both in Sheppard’s country _and_ mine.  It’s pretty disgusting.”

“And yet John appears to be enthusiastic about the holiday,” said Teyla.  Rodney shrugged even as he noted to himself that her phrasing was as precise as her bantos strikes.

***

Midnight found Rodney in his quarters, typing away happily at his favourite laptop.  When the door swooshed open, he didn’t need to look up to know who came in.  John pulled his shoes off and flopped backwards onto the bed.

“All over ‘til next year?”

“Yeah.”

“For the record, I stayed two hours and five minutes,” Rodney pointed out as he saved his files and shut down the laptop.

“Yeah.”

“I see that the experience has left you full of holiday spirit and good cheer.”

John attempted to throw a pillow in Rodney’s direction, but since he didn’t bother sitting up, it landed on the floor instead.  Rodney picked it up as he came over to sit on the bed.  “Shove over.”

Instead, John _rolled_ over, onto his stomach, and then wriggled invitingly.

“My cat used to do that,” Rodney commented as he straddled John and began to rub his back.  “But the other way around – he’d lie on his back and wriggle to indicate that he wanted his belly rubbed.”

“I could do that next,” suggested John, stretching appreciatively as Rodney pressed his hands down a bit harder.

“You could, but we’re good for now.  Except maybe for getting your shirt off?”

“How about bilateral shirt removal, buddy?”

Rodney felt his face flushing in response to John’s low, quiet voice.  “I’m not going to argue...  That’s it, just drop them anywhere...  No, not yet, lie back down again.  I’m not done.”

“Bossy,” mumbled John as Rodney resumed the backrub.

“You know, anyone watching you this evening would think you actually like Christmas parties.”

“Mmmm.”

“And even someone who knows you well enough to know that you don’t – say, your boyfriend? – still wouldn’t know _why_.”

“Mmmm?”

“Unless they’d gotten Ronon to describe what your father’s funeral was like and then made some guesses.”

“Rodney...”

“Shhh, I’m not going to ask you questions, I’m just going to tell you what I’ve guessed.  And can we unbutton these and pull them down a bit so I can do _all_ of your back?  Yes, that’s it...”

“You have a generous definition of ‘back,’ McKay.”  John’s tone was suspiciously close to a purr.

“Check a dictionary, Sheppard.  It’s your back as far down as the end of your spine.  Returning to the main topic of conversation...”

“’M not conversing.  Just listening to you.”

“Fine.  I’m guessing Sheppardian Christmases were centred around a series of social events-cum-business meetings.  The sort of thing where what matters is where you’re seen, whom you’re seen talking with, whom you’re _not_ seen talking with and what gets said off the record.  Am I warm?”

“Yeah.”

“Some of these events would have been hosted by your father at your family’s house.  Ronon said it was quite a spread.”

“Yeah, kind of.”

“Of course, the house would have to have been perfectly decorated for the holidays.  And the decorations would have included two young boys, dressed for their role as affectionate sons and expected to behave accordingly.”

John twitched.

“A little _too_ warm?  Okay, sorry.”  Rodney leaned forward to drop a kiss on the back of John’s neck and rub his nose in the soft, black hair.  “I’m almost done.  I’m guessing that later on, after you joined the Air Force, Christmas at least meant a change from MREs.  And if you smiled and didn’t say much, no one asked any questions.”

“Or made me listen to guesses,” John grumped. 

“Now you’re the military commander of Atlantis and you feel responsible for people’s morale.  Which means you think you have an obligation to be seen at the city-wide Christmas party, looking as if you’re having a reasonably good time.  Huh, that’s something your father might actually have understood.”

“All right, McKay, that’s enough,” John growled – and without warning, flipped them both over and twisted.  Rodney found himself on his back, looking up at his lover.  Despite John’s grumbling and growling he was smiling, flushed and bright-eyed, his face so open that Rodney felt privileged to see it.

“John,” Rodney said softly, “Celebrate not Christmas with me.”

“Don’t celebrate Christmas with you?”

“No, listen.  Celebrate not Christmas with me.”

“Okaaay.”

“There’s not mistletoe over this bed.”

“No – oh.  Yes, there is.  Not mistletoe.”  John’s smile was getting wider.

“So you don’t _have to_ kiss me.”

“Nope.”

“And trying to cash in my 35 minutes’ worth of bonus points right now would be contrary to the non-obligatory nature of not Christmas.”

“Rodney?”

“Yes?”

“Stop talking and celebrate.”  And John leaned in close.


End file.
